swanqueen drabbles - random prompts
by deceptivelycomplex3925
Summary: Hey, look. I finally made a separate section for these.
1. Chapter 1

A hand flies out and connects sharply with the high cheekbone of an absurdly self-satisfied face.

There's the sound of shuffling and boots scraping against concrete as the owner of that very face stumbles with the force of the slap, a hand shooting up to cradle a throbbing jaw - the skin there a blotchy, angry red.

Emerald eyes screw tightly shut - sudden, hot tears threatening to break free - trying to keep from clenching the jaw that the person she had just paid a friggin' _compliment_ to had just completely smacked the living shit out of.

And despite the pain - she's sure is not even half as bad as it would've been had she not been three sheets to the fucking wind, and seriously did Regina use a spark of magic with that slap, because jesus _fuck_ that fucking hurt - she whips her head back to glare into almost midnight black eyes.

Her eyebrows shoot up in incredulity.

"What the fuck, Regina!?" She brings her hand away from her face to see if there's blood on her fingers before doing the motion again, gently pressing against the left corner of her lips before bringing them back for inspection.

There's no blood. But fuck. There'll be a definite bruise - like _all over _the left side of her face.

"Was that really necessary?"

And those incredibly dark eyes flash dangerously, widening in astonishment before glittering with barely contained rage.

"Was that - Miss Swan, get off my porch." Bare lips curl upward. "_Now_."

"No."

It comes out as a challenge.

One Regina would have, on any other occasion, accepted with almost tangible ease. But tonight, she hasn't the patience for it. She bristles at the tone in the blonde's voice instead.

"_Emma_." She growls out, hoping the use of her first name will help the blonde to see she isn't in the mood for their usual banter game. "I am in no mood for this tonight. You're drunk and I'm not going to be your babysitter. Leave."

And because she truly is so drunk she can barely keep herself upright - her right arm gripping the white pillar of Regina's porch her saving grace - she shakes her head and snorts, the sound sloppy and loud - incredibly unattractive.

"Why are you so pissed? I _complimented_ you, Regina. Jesus."

Perfectly sculpted eyebrows lift in disbelief, a matching sound leaving parted lips.

"Compliment? Miss Swan, telling me you'd like to fuck me into tomorrow does not in any way constitute as a compliment."

And there's a cavalier shrug and a lift of slightly chapped lips.

"Semantics."

A derisive scoff.

"Do you even know what that word means?"

Emerald eyes snap up.

"Fuck you, Regina."

A wicked smirk.

"I think we've already established that you'd like to, dear."

A throbbing jaw clenches, the muscles twitching and teeth grinding and Emma's had enough of this woman's pompous attitude. Of thinking she's always two steps ahead - even if she really always is - of thinking she's above everyone else. Above Emma.

She may very well have been a queen, may very well be a mayor, but she is also just Regina. Human. Prone to mistakes. Vulnerability. _Lust_.

And Emma may be drunk beyond coherence but she's not unconscious. She's not incapable of detecting an emotion as raw and palpable as desire.

And Regina's slack jaw and quirk of lips seconds after her compliment did not go unnoticed.

Nor did the dilation of black pupils encased by chocolate irises.

Regina had been aroused.

Regina was _still_ aroused.

And Emma was going to turn her compliment into an action. No matter how much her fucking face hurt.

Emma's hand slides lazily from the wooden pillar she had been leaning on since she had stepped away from banging - yes, actual banging - Regina's door and in three rather steady steps, is inches away from lips so supple and so bare, Emma has to bite back a strangled whimper.

Regina's breath catches - the sound slamming straight to Emma's core, her eyes fluttering when her name, her first name, tumbles out of Regina's mouth in a shaky exhale.

It's nervous. Trembling. Completely out of place to the harshness of her name leaving those same lips only moments before.

Emma feels her heartbeat in every inch of her skin.

She's alight with an almost unbearable heat and when Regina's breath - smelling of apple cider - breaks against her lips, that desperate whimper rips from her throat with a vengeance, morphing into a full-bodied moan when she surges forward and can suddenly taste the tangy liquor on Regina's lips.

Emma swallows the gasp of surprise and then another when Regina's back hits the wall of the house next to the front door - still wide open from Regina having stepped out onto the porch and not closing it - Emma's hands on either side of her head.

Emma runs her tongue along a bottom lip and when Regina's mouth opens eagerly in allowance, she feels hands shoot out and grab at her hips, pulling her harshly into the other woman's body.

Regina's mouth opens on a moan and Emma feels hands rake down her cotton t-shirt, ending at the small of her back before once again finding purchase at her hips.

Her skinny jeans feel too tight, too restricting and the almost painful throb at the juncture of her thighs is making the zipper of them feel as if it's directly pressing against naked nerves.

She feels Regina's tongue swipe along the roof of her mouth, her knees trembling at the sensation and just as her hands move to tangle in raven locks, she feels hands pressing against her chest, pushing her backwards.

She stumbles again, completely disoriented.

Her breath is ragged and harsh, mirroring Regina's.

She furrows her eyebrows and opens her mouth in question when Regina cuts her off.

Regina's lips are swollen and red and glistening in the glow of the porch light above them and Emma's stomach clenches violently at the sight.

"If we are going to do this, I won't have it be outside on my porch."

Her words come out in a rush, her breath still labored, thick with arousal.

And she's turning and making her way through the foyer and up the stairs, stopping just as she reaches the third step, leaning over the rail and arching an eyebrow.

"Coming, dear?"

And Emma shakes her head - having fallen into a trance watching Regina's backside - clad only in a thin, black negligee and a cerulean silk robe - bringing her eyes up to meet those of the woman who had once told her all she'd ever get from her was a blouse.

_God, I hope so._

Emma smirks, feeling more lucid than she ever has in her whole entire life - which may or may not be an illusion...because she's honestly really drunk - but she had the ten minute walk here (she's not stupid enough to drive) and the cool night air of the impending winter to help clear some of the blurriness away and she's definitely level-headed enough to know that if she doesn't move her ass soon, Regina is going to get pissy and tell her to leave - again.

So she steps into the warmth of Regina's house, the smell of vanilla and apples - a weird but surprisingly delicious combination - invading her senses as she makes her way up the stairs, her boots clomping loudly, echoing off the walls of the large house and a wide smile on her lips.

She should have complimented Regina years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm currently working on a long AU fic for this. **

She chokes on her next sip, the dark plum liquid rippling and some of it spilling back into the clear glass, and she tips the wine glass up and away from her matching plum lips. Just a shade lighter. There's a drop of the wine just below a scar on her top lip. Emma stares at it.

Her eyes are wide and her free hand comes up to cover her mouth - wiping away that drop - coughing a bit as she swallows. And even in pure shock, even while choking on an alcoholic beverage, Emma thinks she still looks beautiful. Regal almost. And Emma snorts then. Because_ of course _this woman could make something so incredibly unappealing look almost absurdly graceful.

"You -" she sputters, her already sonorous voice sounding deeper, scratchy from the sting of alcohol on her throat. "You're gay?"

And the look this woman is giving her on top of the absurdity of the question, of the word 'gay' leaving her lips like it's something foreign, something _forbidden_, makes Emma's eyebrow arch in amusement, her lips ticking up into a wry smile. She tilts her head.

"You aren't?"

And oh god, was that a question.

There's suddenly a vein pulsing right in the middle of her forehead, maybe just slightly to the right. Her eyes, and Emma wasn't sure it was possible, widen even more and this time the woman's head jerks back.

"I - no - I, well I - not that's it - I've - once - but that's - it's not -"

And Emma's bent over - she's pretty sure there are tears in her eyes. Because this woman? This prim and proper, pinkie in the air wine drinking (to be honest she's surprised her pinkie hadn't been in the air a moment ago) OCD, grammar nazi _stammering_? Oh god, it's the most amazing thing Emma has ever seen.

She's gasping through her laughter as she wipes at her eyes.

"_Oh my god,_" she brings her hand up to her stomach, the muscles there burning, "I was just messing with you but damn that was probably the greatest thing I've ever witnessed."

She shakes her head and lets out one last breath of a laugh before fixing the brunette with a lopsided grin, all playful eyes and barely contained giggles.

"What happens when I ask about your bra size?"

And then Regina's suddenly standing and setting her wine glass down on the table, all clenched jaw and hard eyes.

And Emma shoots forward and wraps her hand around her wrist, her laughter dying, her face turning serious, solemn. She hadn't meant to actually upset her.

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry Regina I was just - I'm sorry."

And she sees Regina's head turn slightly toward her and she loosens her grip on her wrist, letting her hand fall away completely when Regina sits back down, back ramrod straight, hands clasped tightly together in her lap, eyes staring straight ahead.

And Emma's nibbling at her bottom lip now, because Regina's all ice and razor sharp edges but she's listening. She's waiting.

So Emma lets out a puff of air and settles back against the arm of the couch.

"I'm bi actually."

And Regina's head snaps to look at her but Emma's looking at her hands. She's twirling the ring on her right index finger. She's seeing black curls and hopeful brown eyes. She's seeing a dimple just to the right of plump lips. She's seeing the brightness of a smile. _Her_ smile.

_Will you marry me Emma Swan?_

And suddenly Emma's about to cry. And that is most definitely _not_ okay because she's not drunk. Hasn't even had a sip actually and those kinds of thoughts are only allotted while completely shit-faced. So she does the only thing she does best. Covers it up. Lies. Pretends. Fakes.

She laughs. And it's a bit too flimsy and a lot too loud and she cringes at the sound before turning to find Regina's eyes.

And the softness in them, the almost gentle curiosity making her usually dark brown eyes an almost milk chocolate makes Emma want to blurt out 'you look beautiful like that' but _jesus _she can't actually say that so instead she lifts up her left hand and wriggles her fingers, the diamond ring there glittering with the soft glow of the fireplace. She tries not to think of how familiar Regina's eyes look right now. Sort of wishes that Regina had blue eyes. Sort of glad she doesn't.

"And married. To a guy." She adds with a wry smile. She can do wry. Wry is easy.

_Green eyes maybe_.

And Regina's relaxed now. All loose muscles and she's tucked a strand of her long, almost silky black hair behind her ear (_she couldn't have been blonde?_). She even reaches for her wine glass. Eyes Emma's ring. Takes a sip. Nods. Swallows.

"And this man isn't here with you because...?"

It's the first personal question she's ever asked Emma (aside from the whole 'you're gay?' thing but Emma suspects that was out of shock more than anything) and her eyebrows shoot up, surprised. Delightfully so. Regina actually sounds interested in the answer. She's also on her fourth glass of wine. So there's that.

Emma shrugs. Scratches at her palm.

"Because we're getting a divorce."

And there's the sound of sputtering. And Emma turns to see that yes, this woman has choked on her wine yet again.

This time she looks thoroughly pissed about it and slams her wine glass down on the table before sitting back and fidgeting with her fingers. Prim and proper. _Fidgeting_. Uncomfortable.

"I - I'm sorry, Emma."

And she thinks she should feel the heat curling in her belly. In her face. Thinks she should feel that bubbling anger. Like she always does when someone says that to her. Because_ she's_ not sorry. She's divorcing his ass for a reason. She's _not_ sorry. Ten years worth of memories invalidated. Tainted because of one night of unfaithfulness. So _no_, she's not sorry one goddamn bit.

She thinks she should feel that accompanying feeling of dread. Of that particular brand of hollowness. Of sorrow. Because no she's not sorry but she is sad. She's fucking devastated, really.

_I trusted you. _

But she's not feeling any of that. Not right now. Because right now she's feeling something completely different. Almost like a tingling. Right in the middle of her chest. Like a fluttering. Light. Maybe happy even. It feels...it feels nice.

Because that's the very first time Regina's called her by her first name.

A small smile graces her bare, slightly chapped lips.

"I like how that sounds," she whispers.

And Regina's brow creases. Emma thinks she looks ridiculously adorable. She's never thought her adorable before. The flutter happens again.

"How what sounds?"

And Emma's pretty sure she's about to change this very tentative, very fragile little baby step of what perhaps could one day be a promising acquaintanceship between them with her next words. But that fluttering hasn't stopped. It's even growing. It makes her eyes dance. Her lips tug up further into a smile. Her head tilts.

She's pretty sure she's about to change everything.

_Anything but brown. _

She says them anyway.

"My name on your lips."


	3. Chapter 3

**Because apparently the only thing I can write is Emma realizing she's in love with Regina and it hurting. **

It wasn't even that she was in love with her.

Because she wasn't. It was too soon for that.

No, it wasn't that she was in love with her.

It was that she _could_ be, had the _potential_ to be and that nothing would ever come of it.

It was that she could see it; the way she was softer around her, the way 'Miss Swan' came out affectionate now, the way she was becoming freer with her touch.

And then there were her eyes.

They'd always been so expressive. When her face was that cool mask, her eyes. Her eyes told a different story. The _whole_ story. _Her_ story.

Emma'd always found her eyes to be the most beautiful thing about her.

_Always_.

Even when she'd hated her. Maybe hate wasn't the right word.

Even when she'd wanted to keep Henry from her because she thought she didn't love him. When she thought that maybe she _couldn't_ love at all.

_Oh_, but she can. She _can_ love. She loves with every single part of her.

And that's why it's not that she was in love with her.

Because she isn't. It's too soon for that.

It's that she thinks Regina may be in love with someone else.

It's that she thinks Regina would stay with him even if she wasn't.

It's that when Regina loves, she loves with everything and if she gives her everything to Robin then she can't give anything to Emma.

Because he's her soulmate, her happy ending.

And Regina _deserves_ that.

Emma wants her to have that.

She just thinks that maybe _she_ wants to be the reason for it. Wants to be Regina's happy ending.

It comes as a fleeting thought, something that jars Emma, something that makes her see Regina in a different light, see _everything_ in a different light.

She'd seen the page, torn up and taped back together, and at first she was just wholly confused; completely taken aback because this wasn't Regina's story.

It wasn't at all but here's this page and so she turns and asks Regina.

And it was the look on her face, the way she'd uttered 'wait, don't', the resignation in her voice coupled with the longing, the sadness, the defeat. The still barely there, apprehensive, _hope_ for it.

For Robin. For that happiness with him.

And it hits Emma; something quick and swift. But it wasn't a whisper. It was a scream. And it had her reeling, frantically fumbling to maintain the sympathetic, _platonic_ care on her face.

_I could be your happy ending._

And she'd never really thought of Regina in that way. Was she gorgeous? Yes. Did Emma sometimes fantasize about shutting her up with a hard kiss? Yes.

But sexual attraction and happy endings are two _completely_ different things.

They may go hand in hand but they're on different ends of the spectrum. One leads to the other, yes. But one's just a beginning and one is the beginning of something _more_, more than just sexual attraction, more than transient fantasies.

Happy endings were _true love_ and _soulmates_ and good morning kisses and gentle touches and _forever_… and Emma's not sure she's ready for that.

Emma's not sure she's ready for that with the man she's with now let alone with _Regina_.

But it keeps running through her head. It won't stop. And it seems to be getting louder, rooting deeper, becoming more resolute, _more_. And it's maddening.

Because she isn't in love with Regina. And Regina is in love with someone else.

And Emma can't be in love with Regina because she's supposed to be in love with Hook.

It's maddening because she thinks her brain should have clued her in to something like this sooner.

She thinks that maybe it should have _warned_ her sooner.

Because falling for someone like Regina very much garners a warning.

Loving someone like Regina hurts; Emma knows it will hurt. _Will_ because no, she's not in love with her but now that she's questioning it, now that she has _I could be your happy ending _it will only get worse, it will only grow. And it will _hurt_. It will _ruin_ her.

And when she takes a deep breath, her heart calming from its thunderous beating after seeing that Regina's okay, after locking eyes with her, after the _way_ Regina'd looked at her – like she was realizing something too. Like maybe, just maybe something had yelled in her mind too. Or maybe it was spoken softly; she imagines words in Regina's mind are never above a whisper – she thinks maybe it might ruin Regina too.

Falling for someone like Regina is dangerous.

And Emma's mind keeps telling her this.

And she listens. She _knows_.

Hook's a good distraction. Hook's something sure. Something safe. Something that doesn't hurt. Something that can't ruin.

Not in the way that Regina could ruin.

So she calls Regina madame mayor, because banter with her is easy. She holds Hook's hand. Something _sure_.

And she goes to him after the day is done.

Because she has love, and she quiets the yelling.

Leans into the roughness of a calloused palm, the warmth of it.

She lets herself fall into deep blue eyes.

She doesn't allow herself to see dark brown.

Doesn't allow herself to feel smooth skin on her cheek.

Because she isn't in love with her. It's too soon for that.

Nothing will ever come of it.

She quiets it.

She wonders how long until she no longer can.


	4. Chapter 4

"She'd do anything for you, you know."

She doesn't realize she's been staring and her head jerks to the side, sees _him _leaned up against the counter, eyes on Emma holding baby Neal.

She's laughing and though there's more than fifty people inside the diner, Regina can hear it. She thinks she'd be able to hear it even in a room filled with hundreds of people.

Her heart jumps at the words. At _whom_ he's referring to.

She swallows and looks back to Emma, Henry now at her side, smiling and holding onto baby Neal's foot.

"I'm not so sure about that." Because she's not. She's not at all.

"I am," Hook says, eyes never leaving Emma.

And Regina looks at him then. Sees the faint smile on his lips as he watches her. Sees the tenderness in his gaze. It makes her stomach twist so she turns away – back to Emma.

And she looks up then, eyes shining and oh so green, the light from the sun streaming in through the windows and the deep emerald of her blouse making the jade in them more pronounced today.

Her eyes find Regina's first; she smiles. And it's something small, something like _our son_ something like _but with you Regina, I always know when you're lying. _

It's small but it's meaningful. It's _friendship._

It's friendship and _only_ friendship because then her eyes flicker over to Hook and the smile grows into something else. Grows into _I love you_ and Regina tries not to let the feeling of…it's not exactly jealously in this moment, though she is that. She's always that.

It's more sadness than anything now. It's could have been. It's won't ever be. It's _almost_.

She _almost_ told her.

She _almost_ kissed her.

She _almost_ left him.

She feels the word on her tongue, tastes its acridness, feels it harden in her throat, heave in her stomach.

She tries to think of Robin then. Because she has a happy ending. She _is_ happy.

She has Robin and she has Roland and she has Henry.

She _is_ happy.

It's just that when she's lying in her bed, next to her happy ending, next to warmth and comfort and _solidity_, her mind whispers to her.

It says things like _could you have been happier? _

It supplies names like _Emma._

It torments her with _you love her._

And she always quiets it with _no, I love Robin._

Pushes back with _I found my happy ending, I'm happy _now_. With _him_._

And it works. It works because it's true. She _is_ happy. She _does_ love Robin.

It's just that she loves Emma too.

She loves Emma from afar. Loves her when she smiles at her and it's _friendship_. Loves her when she sees her and Hook holding hands, when they kiss. She loves her even though it hurts.

She loves her even though it _pierces_.

_You love her. _

It's not her voice. Not her whisper.

Her eyes snap to Hook, panic ripping through her like a shock.

But his eyes aren't accusing, not angry, not threatening. _He's_ not threatened by it.

His eyes are open, _gentle_.

"She doesn't think you do, but I see it."

He glances back over to Emma and that whisper in her mind turns into a rhythm, something steady, something growing.

She tries feverishly to quiet it with, "I'm with Robin."

He chuckles then and the blood is pounding too loudly in her temples for her to feel annoyance at the sound.

His eyes find hers again and there's something swimming in them that sets her on edge. Makes her feel unease.

"A heart doesn't quiet for someone just because it's found content in another."

And it's more the implication than the word choice.

Because not even her mind will fully allow her the admission.

Even she won't let _you love her _be _you're _in love_ with her._

Her breath hitches on a sharp inhale and Hook's smile turns sickly sweet then, gentleness being chipped away by something else. Something harder.

"It's a good thing us villains found our happy endings, aye?"

His eyes move from Emma's to hers again and she recognizes it then. That something.

A _warning_.

And her jaw sets, her own smile pasting itself across her lips, too broad and too forced.

"Yes," she says, "yes, it is."

And when she looks forward once more, she watches as Hook slides up behind Emma, watches as her head leans back, watches as she smiles into their kiss, watches her hands tighten around his forearms.

_You're in love with her_, her mind whispers.

_I know,_ she whispers back.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm not sure what this is.**

"Are you _faulting_ me for that?"

Dark brown eyes glitter with unshed tears and a head of even darker hair tilts back in wounded shock, hurt at the implication in the previously stated words.

"What – Regina, no I – Jesus. _No_! I'm – that's not – "

Hands shoot up to tangle themselves in golden rich curls and there's a deep, strangled exhale. As if meant to be borne of pure frustration (because god _damn_ _it_ this isn't coming out at _all_ like it's supposed to) on the way up but had somehow morphed to become one of utter anguish as it fell past thin, bare lips.

Tears slip past tightly shut emerald eyes and there's a sharp intake of a breath at the effort to keep any more from escaping.

"_Regina_."

And there's that sound again. Strangled.

Misty, albeit bright, green eyes open to meet melted chocolate ones, glistening with tears of their own and Emma's breath catches at the sight.

Regina crying, _vulnerable_, is probably one of the most painfully beautiful things she's ever witnessed.

Regina, even in tears and sorrow, is quite literally breathtaking.

"I'm not _faulting_ you for telling me how you feel. I get that – I mean, I feel the same way. Obviously."

Emma internally screams at herself for her inability to express her feelings in any capacity without it sounding like something tumbling out of a fourth grader's mouth.

She exhales another puff of aggravated air and brings her gaze back up to Regina's, whose head is now tilted in confusion and concern rather than hurt and anger, as she tries to sync her chaotic thoughts with the words forming on her mouth.

Because she needs Regina to know this. Regina, who has been through more than any one person should _ever_ have to. Regina, whose heart could lift mountains if it so pleased. Regina, who loves with every ounce of her being – every ounce of her soul. Regina, who deserves the world and the stars and everything in between. Regina, who most definitely deserves someone more than a blue-collared ex con who doesn't know the first thing about how to love someone properly.

"This isn't – that's not the point I'm trying to make. I'm not – I – I'm telling you that I'm no good for you. I don't _deserve_ you, Regina. God. You deserve so much more than me."

Her words are wobbly, trembling as is her entire body.

And there's a tentative step forward, the click of a high-heel against the marble of the foyer. The outstretch of an olive-toned hand. A soft, understanding, apologetic '_Emma_' falling past plum lips before the hand stills at the sudden panic now swirling in those tempestuous sea green eyes.

Regina knows that look.

Emma's about to run.

Emma backs away, a jerky clumsy movement and Regina's heart twists at the self-loathing glittering back at her – the fear there, unbridled and twitching with its intensity.

And this time when Emma's name falls from her lips it's laden with tears, with an almost suffocating kind of dread. The kind that turns your blood to ice, makes your heart feel as if it's about to splinter right down the center, crack open and spill its contents – stain everything a deep crimson. Her skin prickles and her fingers curl a bit because _no. No, you cannot leave me, Emma Swan._

"Emma?"

"I'm no good for you."

And it's the way she says it. As if she's said it so many times in her own head that it's just a commonplace fact. One that she believes wholeheartedly. One she's convinced herself to believe.

It's _that_ which makes her heart constrict painfully again – feels it straining at the seams. Because _god_ is she wrong.

So completely _wrong_.

And she wants to tell her that. She needs Emma to know how wrong she is, to show her. She wants to reach out to her, wants to thread her fingers through those unkempt but delicious curls and kiss away her fear, her pain, her doubts. She wants to hug her. Love her. Keep her. And she wants to do so for the rest of her life.

But words won't come to her. She has so many she has to say but it's as if they're stuck in her throat and there's just this huge lump of disorganized words and syllables that she can't seem to get out or swallow down.

There's only one word that does make its way out, one word that fights its way out of that lump and past her lips.

"Emma."

It comes out a whisper, loaded and firm and she tries to put all of those stupid jumbled up words into those two syllables and hope that Emma understands, _knows_, she's all Regina has ever wanted.

And then she's moving forward again, her hand still outstretched as Emma steps back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Until there's a wall pressing firmly into Emma's spine and two warm, strong – so _strong_ – hands are cupping her face.

"_Emma_," she breathes again, the name like a reverence on her tongue, a soft smile on her lips. A light brush of a thumb to catch a tear as it rolls past a closed eye and down a pale cheek.

She says her name again and it's a question. A request.

And when it's denied Regina leans forward and brushes her lips across a closed eyelid, pressing a gentle kiss to the bone just above.

There's a small, surprised gasp and emerald eyes fly open just as another feather-light kiss presses to the skin of her forehead.

"You're more than enough," a whispered exhale there.

The tip of her nose.

"I want you."

Her right cheekbone.

"I need you."

Her left cheekbone.

"I _love you._"

The corner of her mouth. Which parts on a shaky inhale.

"Emma, _I love you_."

And hands that had been in fists so tight there were half-crest moon marks in her palms shoot up and grab at and tangle in dark silky locks.

Her forehead falls forward to rest against Regina's.

A sob. A strangled sob.

But this time out of sheer astonishment. Relief. _Happiness_.

"I love you too," she whispers before she surges forward to capture those dark plump lips between her own, Regina's whispered words echoing in her mind, solid and real and _true_.

"_I love you too,_" she whispers into her lips once more, tightening her hands in Regina's hair when she feels her smile into their kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't know, y'all. My roommate's boyfriend was cooking them dinner while she studied for her anatomy test and this happened. Not sure how she'd feel about it if she knew they were the inspiration for a non-canon lesbian fanfiction but whatever. Writing. Fun stuff**.

There's just the sound of crackling and sizzling and the soft soft sound of the jazz music (so as not to bother Emma and her studying in the other room) Regina has playing from the little radio on the counter next to the stove. And she's humming and sprinkling some minced garlic to the chicken when she feels a body pressed up against her back, warm arms sliding around her middle, hands splaying against her abdomen and an even warmer mouth against her neck. She gasps even as she melts into the embrace and tilts her head to give those amazing lips more skin to suckle.

"_Emma_," she breathes as her eyes flutter when those lips find a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear.

And then there's a muffled hum that sounds a lot like a question mark. And Regina smiles, all crooked and more a smirk than anything and she takes a small step backward, Emma moving with her so they're away from the stove a few feet, Emma's hands still against the red cashmere sweater at Regina's hips, her thumbs making small circles, hooking up and under the hem of it and making contact with warm, silky skin.

Regina brings her hands to rest atop Emma's, pressing against them, willing them to stop their wandering.

"You're supposed to be studying." It comes out breathy, raspy. As if her voice had been dragged through gravel.

Emma's hands slide beneath the fabric of her sweater and in a deliciously, agonizingly slow pace, drags her hands up the contours of Regina's stomach until she reaches the underwire of her black silk bra, before palming her soft weight, a whimpered gasp falling from bare lips in result.

There's a nuzzle of a nose against the shell of an ear, dark raven curls tickling and then there's a grumble of a reply, sending shivers along olive toned skin.

"Mmmm. I am studying."

One of Emma's hands moves to trace along the bone just above Regina's right breast.

"Clavicle." She whispers into Regina's ear.

Her other hand, the one still resting against the smoothness of Regina's black bra, shifts and slides down to the goose flesh that rests against Regina's rib cage, her fingers drawing lazy circles there, delighting in the sharp intake of breath it elicits.

"Serratus anterior," she breathes into her neck, pressing the whisper of a kiss against the straining muscle there. _Sternocleidomastiod_ her brain supplies.

The hand still brushing against Regina's collarbone moves lower, her fingers dipping into the valley of Regina's breasts - another sharp inhale - before raking her nails down the rippling muscles of Regina's abdomen, her fingers coming to rest just below her navel.

"Rectus abdominis." Emma hisses as Regina's body jerks into her hand at the action, a deep moan bubbling up from the back of her throat.

Emma kisses Regina's ear lobe, her tongue flicking against the gold earring there before her hand shoots down to cup Regina fully, grinding her palm harshly as Regina cries out, her hips rolling forward into Emma's hand as Emma husks out "clitoris".

And then Regina is reaching and clawing for Emma's neck and turning and suddenly it's Regina who is eliciting a deep moan as she yanks at tangled, unkempt, curly golden locks, her lips crashing against Emma's. And it's all tongue and teeth and passion and who needs chicken with way way too much garlic anyway because this is Regina helping Emma study and Regina thinks that she really should get an A on this particular part of the exam.


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't even know. I was eating Nutella and this scene ran through my head.**

"I - I can't do this."

And suddenly her hands are no longer laced through my hair. Her forehead is no longer pressed against mine. My smile is no longer aching my jawbone with its intensity.

My eyes snap open and my heart jumps almost painfully. My blood turns to ice. My throat feels tight. Too tight. I can't swallow.

"What - what do you - "

But she cuts me off with a hard kiss. Just lips pressing roughly against mine before she turns as if to walk - _no_. No she isn't leaving me. Not a second time. _Not again_.

No.

My hands shoot out to grab at her. They latch onto her wrist and she stops mid-turn, her eyes not coming up to meet mine but rather shifting to look at the floor just beside my heel-clad feet.

And I'm crying. I can feel the hotness on my cheeks. Feel the burning behind my eyes. Feel the breaking of my already fragile heart.

There are tears in her eyes as well and some part of me aches for her while another feels a sadistic sort of satisfaction that this is hurting her as much as it's hurting me.

She can't leave me. Not again.

And yet I know she is.

I can feel it in the trembling of her hand. See it in the way she's nibbling almost violently at her bottom lip. In the way she still won't look at me.

With my eyes boring into her own down-casted ones, I tug a bit at her wrist still tightly gripped in my hands and lean in closer to her.

"Don't you _dare_ leave me again, Emma Swan."

And my voice is quaking, trembling just as much as her own body and it's as broken and desperate as it is fierce and dangerous.

And her eyes flick up to mine for a brief second before she rips away from my grasp and is running away from me again, a soft, choked, almost imperceptible "I'm sorry" escaping her lips before she's gone.

And emerald eyes so full of pain and regret and love are forever imprinted into my memory as I blink rapidly, my hands still outstretched in front of me.

And it's too much.

She's gone.

Again.

And then my hands are the only thing that break my fall when my knees buckle beneath me and a strangled sob is ripped from my lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**I wrote this for a friend. She was writing a story where Regina was Emma's stepmom. It reminded me of the movie Tadpole with Sigourney Weaver. So I wrote this little scene. **

**These last two I found buried in a tag on my tumblr. They're old but I thought I'd still share them. **

Three days of this.

Three days of Emma teasing her. Taunting her. _Torturing_ her.

This was wrong. She didn't like Emma. She certainly wasn't _attracted_ to her. And she was going to put a stop to this.

She stormed into her room, not even bothering to knock and had her mouth opened to verbally eviscerate her incorrigible step-daughter when her words died right there on her tongue.

Emma was sitting up against her pillows, glasses on, hair wild and billowing about her shoulders, a pencil end stuck between her teeth, her forehead crinkled in concentration and a book laid across her pant-less legs. She was in a white cotton tank-top and most definitely _not_ wearing a bra.

Regina moaned internally.

God damn this girl.

Emma's head snapped up and she dropped her pencil beside her and scooted up further in the bed, closing the book and moving it to the side as well. She smirked as Regina's eyes flickered to the bare skin of her thighs and Regina's jaw clenched and her words came back to life in an instant.

"Emma, this needs to stop." Her hands motioned between her and Emma. "Whatever it is that you are trying to do isn't working nor is it at all appropriate. I would appreciate it if you would stop playing this childish game. Am I understood?"

Emma's brow arched and her smile only grew larger, more predatory, more lewd. It sent shivers down Regina's spine and settled and grew in heat at the base of it.

Emma slowly slid off the bed and over to Regina. And without so much as touching her, she leaned her head in slightly, just close enough to feel Regina's sharp and shaky exhale break against her lips.

Emma's eyes bored into Regina's and Emma's head quirked to the side, the back of her hand moving to just barely caress down an arm clad in blue silk. Regina was still in her work attire. Blue silk dress shirt, sans the black blazer, matching black dress pants and…bare feet. Emma's brows shot upwards at that. And then she bit her lip as she realized that was probably the sexiest thing she had ever witnessed on Regina.

Something about her minus socks and stupidly sexy heels just…made her so god damn irresistible in that moment that she was leaning forward to kiss even sexier lips when she felt strong hands at her forearms.

They pushed her gently and emerald eyes snapped up to meet almost black ones. Emma swallowed.

"_Emma_."

Her voice cracked, wavered.

It rolled across Emma's body in waves. She was _aching_ for this woman. God, all those days of teasing had only made her desire grow. Deepen.

She needed to touch Regina. Needed to feel her hands on her.

_In_ her.

"Emma, stop. This - this is what I'm talking about. This…this can't happen. Whatever this is. It's not right. You're my step-daughter for God's sake."

Emma huffed.

"Yeah and? It's not like we're related Regina. This isn't wrong."

Regina's brow quirked.

"It isn't? So your father would approve of this then, yes?"

Emma growled and shrugged away from Regina's hands.

"Why are you being so difficult about this?"

Regina tilted her head back in disbelief.

"Why am I - Emma, I am _married_ to your _father_. How do you not see how utterly _wrong_ this is?"

Emma took a forceful step forward and yanked at the back of Regina's neck, taking her bottom lip between her own and internally melting when a surprised whimper is ripped from Regina's lips.

She's pushing Emma away and wiping at her mouth and panting and piercing her through with a look of such anger that it's almost palpable.

"How can something like that be wrong?" Emma breathes, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

And then Regina is looking at her as if she has three heads.

"Are you that delusional? Emma, you are my step-daughter. I am married to your father. I love your father, I -"

"Do you?"

Regina shakes her head, her mouth still hanging open from shock at the sudden question.

"Of - of course I do. Why would you as-"

"I don't think you do."

"Oh, really now? Do enlighten me, dear." Regina crosses her arms, annoyed at being interrupted twice, cocking a hip.

Emma takes a small step forward, a smile gracing her lips.

"Because you love me."

Regina sighs, suddenly tired…suddenly exhausted. She brings her hand up to rub at her temple, closing her eyes briefly.

"Emma, you can love more than one person at a time."

That's not a denial. Emma bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

She shrugs instead, conceding.

"True." She takes yet another step forward and wraps her hand around the one still gently massaging at Regina's temple. She intertwines their hands and brings them to her lips, kissing the knuckles of Regina's hand softly.

"But I think you love me differently. I think you love me with all you have. With everything that you are."

Regina's eyes widen slightly and her heart stutters and picks up in rhythm. How did she -

"How - how do you -"

And Emma allows herself to smile; this one bigger, brighter, happier.

_Hopeful_.

"Because, Regina. That's how I love you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Because I'm obsessed with that quote from Penny Dreadful: "but I love you in a different way. I love you enough to kill you."**

"Regina, please. _Please_."

And Regina shakes her head, tears welling up and when she blinks them shut, they fall.

"Emma, I can't - I can't do this, I -"

And she clutches at Regina's blouse, crinkles it, probably ruins it. And the pain roiling through her body takes her breath away for a moment, her fists balling tighter around the white, silk fabric. She screws her eyes shut as a wave of agonizing, blistering hot pain tears through her veins again.

She bites her lip to hold back the scream she doesn't want Regina to hear. She bites so hard she draws blood and she hears Regina gasp. Emma feels off balance, dizzy suddenly, and she sways forward but firm, strong hands keep her upright.

"Emma?" Regina asks, voice chipped from her tears.

And Emma's eyes open and she finds the softness of Regina's worried eyes, like melted caramel. _So soft,_ Emma thinks.

Regina's eyes are flickering back and forth between hers, her forehead creased with worry, eyes wide with fear.

"Regina," she starts, voice sounding foreign to her own ears, just a slight whisper, gravelly, harsh. Her screams had made her throat red and raw; it hurt even to speak. Everything hurt. _Everything_.

"Regina, I can't ask this of Henry," Regina lets out a quiet cry at the mention of their son, at what Emma's asking her to do, "my parents would never…Killian won't…"

It's becoming harder and harder to breath, her heart feeling like it's on fire and being torn open with jagged knives. Thousands of them. All at once.

Regina's nails dig into her waist, tears falling with abandon down her olive-toned, beautiful, _beautiful_ cheeks.

She looks so beautiful and it strikes Emma then that she's never told her this before. She's never told her how beautiful she thinks she is. And if she's about to die, that is most definitely _not_ okay.

"Regina," she rasps, the word like acid on her throat, "you're so beautiful."

And Regina laughs then, something like disbelief and wonderment all in one. Her brow furrows and she shakes her head, eyes glistening with her tears, looking at Emma like she's an idiot.

"You're telling me this _now_?" She asks, voice shaky and angry and for a split second she thinks Regina might strike her.

"You're telling me this now," she says again, bottom lip quivering. And then she surges forward and kisses Emma. She kisses her hard and she wastes no time in taking advantage of Emma's surprise and thrusting her tongue in her mouth. And Emma's pain, that constant, blinding pain ceases for a moment. And all Emma feels is Regina. It's all she can smell and taste. _Regina, Regina, Regina_.

And she knows then, as she feels Regina's hands tangle in her hair, as she kisses Regina back with all the strength she has within her, as she tastes the metallic of her blood mingling in with their kiss, that Regina will do this for her. That Regina loves her. That she had made the right decision in asking her.

Because Regina loves her. But she loves her in a different way. Different from her parents and Killian. Different even than Henry.

Regina loves her enough to kill her.

And when Regina breaks their kiss off with a strangled sob, their foreheads pressed together, clutching each other, nails piercing and desperate, in a mess of legs and tears on the floor, melted caramel meets sea green one last time.

"I've always loved you, Emma," she whispers against Emma's lips, "always."

And Emma smiles, her pain still absent, and she thinks then that perhaps Regina's fixed her. Perhaps it's gone. Perhaps the darkness had been vanquished by the purity of Regina's lips.

And she opens her mouth to tell Regina that she's loved her since the very first time she saw her.

But then the pain comes back. It comes back and it's doubled. Tripled. And it's hotter now. There are more knives. More fires. More splintering, tearing. It feels like her skin is being peeled off of her very bones, like her heart has been doused in gasoline and someone's just lit a match to it. And her eyes must be giving it away because Regina's bottom lip is trembling again, and Emma can't hear anything over the blood screaming in her ears but she thinks Regina is crying.

She wants to touch her face, wants to wipe away her tears but she's paralyzed by her pain. And then it starts to fill up her lungs, her throat, and then it's on her tongue and she doesn't know how long this is going to last but it feels like eternity and she just wants it to end. She _needs_ it to end.

Her eyes plead with Regina then, mouth open on silent screams and Regina clutches at her shoulder before resting her palm against Emma's chest. Against her heart, beating so quickly she thinks it's about to explode.

Emma urges her on with her eyes, gasping for breath, feeling like she's got a tube the size of a pencil in her throat and she can only get in a centimeter of air each inhale.

And Regina closes her eyes then, forehead coming to rest against Emma's and then she feels a warmth around her heart. Something much milder than the searing heat from her pain and it stops for a split second. All of it. She feels a second of absolute content. And that tube widens and she gets a ragged inhale. And when she looks down she sees her heart in Regina's hand. But it's black. Completely black. And it's dripping. It looks like Regina had dipped it in tar.

And she wants to ask why. Why does her heart look like that but she knows. And she can't ask then because the pain comes back. And then the tube is completely gone and she can't breathe at all and Regina finds her eyes, Emma's vision blurring, and she hears Regina's voice, sounding muddled and miles away.

"I love you, Emma."

And her pain intensifies a thousand times and she feels like her organs are being incinerated and then it stops.

And then it's black.

She feels nothing. She is gone.

And then the only thing that can be heard in the mansion are the strangled, heaving sobs of a woman who just killed the one she loved.

Regina loved her in a different way than all the others.

Regina loved her enough to save her.

Regina loved her enough to kill her.


	10. Chapter 10

**I found this in my notes. I have no idea how old it is. I do remember it was a dream I had because Regina plays a trick on Emma by magically cutting her hair. I don't think Regina would ever intentionally cut Emma's hair, to be clear. I think our queen loves Emma's long locks just as much as we do. I just dreamt it and wrote it down. Also, sorry for all the chaos last night of posting all these. I'm OCD so I needed it to be fixed. **

**Alright,**_** dear.**_

I glare at the phone. Your words are too - we are in a fucking _fight_ for Christ's sake.

Or at least I'm mad at you. Fucking pissed at you actually.

And I've just told you I'm coming over to basically yell at you in person because I can't properly convey my anger through text.

And you send back _that_.

I shake my head and clutch my phone tightly in my hands as I snatch my keys off the table and stomp out the door of my apartment.

Where apparently it has been raining sheets and buckets and I can't even see my bug that is not five feet away in the driveway.

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

I step back in and slam the door behind me, locking it in place before stomping to the couch and falling into it gracelessly.

I'm too angry to take off my boots.

I unlock my screen and open up our text conversation, typing out a response.

**It's raining like fucking crazy outside. Call me.**

I tap my finger against my phone, hating that you don't have an iPhone and I can't _ever_ tell when you've read my messages or when you're typing.

It's fucking maddening.

Especially when we're fighting.

Well - especially when I'm pissed at you and you're so fucking _cavalier_ about it.

I prop my boot-clad feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankle and run my hand through my now shoulder length hair petulantly.

There's a vibration in my hands and my eyes shoot to my phone.

_**No. But a picture would be nice.**_

My jaw clenches, my fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard.

**I'm not sending you a fucking picture, Regina.**

Usually I try not to show my immaturity through cuss words. I try not to resort to them when I'm angry. You always tell me how childish it is. How you 'absolutely abhor' it.

I smile wryly as I hit send. Maybe you'll finally show some fucking emotion this time.

Your response is almost instant.

I imagine where you're at in the house. What you're wearing. If you're wearing those glasses that only Henry and I know you own.

_**Oh, come now Emma, just one little picture?**_

My stomach flutters at the teasing tone I can feel oozing through the phone. I can so clearly see the bat of dark eyelashes and that little tilt of your head. There's maybe even a slight jut of a plump bottom lip wiped bare of dark lip stick.

My nostrils flare and I gnash my teeth together. You're cheating.

**You've already seen my hair, you know what it looks like. You're the one who fucking did it.**

Again, your response is instant.

_**I think it looks incredibly sexy**_.

Oh, you little -

**No. I'm mad at you. That's not going to work.**

It doesn't even matter that my stomach had tightened at the words. Doesn't matter one fucking bit.

_**Are you sure, dear?**_

And _god_ I can practically see the smirk, can practically hear that little hum of yours you do at the beginning of sentences like that - when you're flirtatious and cocky and amused all at the same time. I uncross my legs, my feet clomping loudly against the hard wood floor of the living room when I slide them off the table.

I inhale deeply and close my eyes. Wanting to strangle you through the phone. You're so god damn..._Regina_ sometimes.

My hair is something I'm almost embarrassedly attached to. There's a reason I haven't cut it in so long.

And I thought it had been abundantly clear that you loved my hair at that length. The amount of tugging and pulling you do at it during -

I clear my throat as images I certainly do _not_ want nor need right now flow unbidden through my mind.

Damn you and your kink for hair pulling.

I look down when there's another vibration and I blink when I realize I had typed out a response and you had already responded back.

**I was under the impression you liked my hair at the length it was - at least your hands did, anyway.**

I scrunch my face up.

Jesus, did I really text that?

I bring my free hand up to forehead, shaking my head lightly.

God, I thought I was better at witty comebacks. This is something we do on a daily basis. One would think I'd be actually decent at it.

I look down to read your response and groan, sinking lower into the couch.

_**Mis manos encanta tu pelo en todas las longitudes. No va a cambiar lo mucho que te toco, Emma.**_

You had once told me that you would only ever speak to me in Spanish if you were trying to seduce me.

Yes, you had said seduce.

And yes, the words that had followed that sentence that night had been uttered in Spanish - in a low rasp, breathed hotly into my ear - and yes, I had been so ridiculously turned on by that I had melted into you, my body trembling with need.

I haven't even the slightest damn clue what that text means but it was in Spanish and I can just imagine the way your tongue curls and rolls to form all the different letters of it. I use the front of my right boot to push against the heel of my left boot and then use my newly freed toes to take off the other one, hearing them both fall to the floor in dull thuds.

I tuck my feet under myself and exhale in a huff.

Sometimes I really hate you.

Like right now. Because I'm no longer even mad at you.

**That's cheating.**

Your response is again almost instant and now I really want to know what you're wearing. Where you are. If you're biting your lip like you're so prone to do when you're like this.

My stomach flutters almost violently and there's a growing steady pulse at the base of my legs.

I put my phone in my lap and slide off my leather jacket, suddenly too hot for it, jumping and gasping when there's another vibration indicating another text from you.

I narrow my eyes at my lap. There's no way you could have known I had sat my phone there.

Right?

I throw my jacket off to the side, hearing it land somewhere to my left and behind me and grab my phone to read your responses.

**_It is not._**

**_It's winning._**

There's a knock at my door and I whip my head up, tilting my head and furrowing my eyebrows in confusion before I sigh and shake my head, standing up and padding over to the door.

I type out a response as I reach for the lock on the door and turn it, not caring to look out the window because honestly who the hell else would be knocking on my door when it's raining like this other than my neighbor who insists on coming over and making me tea every time it storms? She's a sweetheart but right now I'm not in the mood for company.

Company that isn't you, anyway.

**Winning what?**

And I twist the door handle, pulling the door open and it most definitely is not Miss Rosie on the other side.

It's you. Standing there completely soaked from head to toe, your dark hair matted and sticking to your face, your crimson blouse clinging to your body like a second skin and there's an incredibly all too satisfied smirk on your lips.

And you surge forward, grabbing fistfuls of my cotton t-shirt, and pull me into you roughly, the feeling of pelts of cool rain against the top of my head and shoulders and the warm wetness from your blouse seeping through my own shirt opening my mouth in a surprised gasp.

You swipe your tongue across the length of my own as I do and my hands - which had shot to your hips to keep my balance - dig harshly into the skin there at the overload of sensations.

You kiss me fiercely and then suck at my bottom lip before pulling back a bare few inches and mumbling against my kiss-swollen lips.

"This argument."


	11. Chapter 11

**This is a little snippet from a role play I do with a good friend of mine. Emma and Regina are married, Henry is four or five, and Emery (magic baby because reasons) is a few months old. I actually think I wrote this as a surprise response? I can't remember. **

**Also. I am _so_ bad at smut. I'm working on improving *fingers crossed* Brownie points for trying though right? **

I walk into the house and the first thing I notice is how quiet it is.

I drop my keys on the foyer table and tilt my head.

"Emma?" I call up the stairs.

And suddenly you're rushing from the living room waving your hands frantically at me with wide, panicked eyes, shushing me.

You tilt your head up to the stairs, your eyes narrowing, your hands frozen mid air from where they had been flailing at me.

My eyebrows lift in amusement.

It's when after a few more seconds of utter silence you relax and exhale deeply, your shoulders sagging along with the breath, that I realize you had been listening to see if I had awoken Emery and Henry. You bring a hand up to scrub at your face. Your sigh is laced with exhaustion and my heart clenches at the sound.

It also washes away any doubts I had about my surprise for tonight.

"Emery's been crying all day and Henry has been doing the same thing because I think he's jealous of all the attention Emery gets and then -"

I lean forward quickly, effectively silencing you with a kiss, taking your bottom lip between my own before pulling away, chuckling when your head cranes forward seeking more contact, your eyes closed and your mouth parted slightly.

"Your mother is outside. I told her to give us a few minutes before coming inside. She's watching Henry and Emery for the night. And we," I say, biting my lip and brushing my fingers across your now very taut abdomen (you'd been so insistent on gaining that glorious six pack of yours since Emery's birth), "are having a night to ourselves."

Your eyebrows shoot up and you tilt your head, smiling crookedly, your eyes alight with renewed energy.

"A night to ourselves, huh?" Your hand catches my wrist and you tug me forward pulling us flush together.

I hum and smirk, leaning in to capture your lips again.

"I'm entering the room. I am entering the room."

I roll my eyes and you do the same, keeping your arms around my waist as we both turn to look at Snow, her hand covering her eyes like the absurd melodramatist she is as she walks into the foyer.

I chuckle and shake my head.

"Just in time, dear. A minute later and we'd probably have tainted your fragile sensibilities."

Snow rolls her eyes and makes her way up the stairs, ignoring the comment with an unimpressed wave of her hand.

"Enjoy your night, ladies."

And I turn and arch an eyebrow at you before smiling deviously and grabbing your hand, tugging you out the door and down the sidewalk, to the Mercedes.

You laugh as you get in the passenger side and I start the engine.

"Where are we going?"

I back out of the driveway and bite my lip.

"I have a surprise for you." I whisper.

A few minutes pass and I'm already feeling a tingling heat in the base of my spine - feeling it trickle and pool between my legs.

I inhale sharply at the sensation and then I feel your hand move to press against my inner thigh, your fingers flexing and massaging gently.

I gasp out and jerk forward a bit, swerving the car slightly, my right hand shooting down to cover yours harshly.

"_Emma_." I growl through clenched teeth.

In order for you to enjoy my surprise you and I have to actually be alive.

I hear the rustle of clothes and the creaking of a leather seat and suddenly your lips, hot and wet, are on my neck, and my eyes flutter and I gasp again when your tongue flattens against my pulse point.

The hand I have on the steering wheel tightens around the leather of it, my knuckles turning white with the strain.

I grit my teeth.

Your hand underneath mine slides up the inside of my thigh, underneath my pencil skirt and I squeeze your hand, your name again tumbling from lips in a shaky breath.

"Emma - I," your fingers brush against the lace of my deep crimson lingerie (that I had bought specifically for this night) and my hips cant forward when a soft gasp breaks against the shell of my ear as your fingers brush over the lace of my thigh highs. I suck in a sharp breath, shifting in my seat, "we haven't even made - it t-to - oh God," I moan as your hand cups me fully and your palm grinds down.

We're still ten or fifteen minutes from the B&amp;B but I haven't touched you in weeks. Not like this. Not -

To hell with the surprise.

I slow down and pull over onto the side of the road - we're still in Storybrooke and there's nothing but woods and it's 10 o'clock at night and honestly who even is going to be out here anyway?

I slam the car into park and turn off the engine with the hand that had been wrapped around yours and though your hand hasn't moved away from my now throbbing core you've leaned away and your breathing is ragged. Mine is too.

My eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and then you're surging forward and your tongue swipes across my bottom lip and I open my mouth on a moan, my hands shooting to fist at your shirt.

I flick my tongue at the roof of your mouth before running it along the length of your own, swirling it, my stomach flipping violently at the choked groan it elicits from you.

Your palm continues to grind into my center harder and faster and my hips roll into you in jerky motions as I pull you closer to me and suck at your bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop before finding your eyes again, our breathing sharp and broken, your hand and my hips still moving in rhythm.

I bite my lip and close my eyes, choking on a whimper when you slip your fingers beneath the satin of my underwear and enter me with two fingers, sliding into me with ease from the obscene amount of wetness meeting your hand.

"Emma," I choke out, "I want your mouth - I - _oh_" I moan when your fingers curl inside of me and my forehead falls to meet yours, my fingers tightening in your shirt, "inside me -" I gasp and choke on a whimpered sob as my body tenses, my thighs clenching around your hand and your name falling from my lips on a hoarse exhale.

I open my eyes, finding dark dark sea-green irises, almost black with desire, your fingers still inside of me.

My chest is heaving and my breathing is labored and I rub my forehead against yours before pulling away. My eyes flicker to your lips before finding your eyes, my gaze piercing, raw.

"Emma, I want your tongue inside of me right fucking now." I growl and your eyes flutter and you suck in a sharp inhale.

"Jesus _fuck_, Regina."

And suddenly your fingers are out of me and I gasp at the mix of pleasure and pain and you're opening the car door and scrambling out and then you're ripping open the driver's side door and tugging me out of the seat and -

"Emma - what -" and you slam the door and shove me up against it and I gasp out before your lips fuse against mine, swallowing it - your body pressing into mine with a harsh roll of your hips.

I groan into your mouth and my hands shoot to grab at those hips, pulling you into me harder and then your lips are on my neck, my collarbone, and you untuck my blouse and press an open mouthed kiss to my navel, trembling with my need for you.

My hands move to tangle into your hair and my head falls back against the car window, my eyes finding the bright stars above as I feel my skirt being bunched up and your fingers hitch under the waistband of my underwear, tugging them roughly down my legs.

And I snap my head down to see blonde curls and my 'you're doing this here?' turns into a strangled garble and my fingers tighten in your hair, my body jerking when your tongue runs up the length of my slit before pushing inside of me.

My head falls back, the tendons in my neck going slack, and my mouth falls open in a soundless cry as my hips grind against your mouth, my right arm moving to grip at the handle of the car door, the other one pushing you further inside me and I come apart completely, my back bowing and a loud, strangled cry rips past my lips when your mouth wraps around my clit and sucks harshly.

My breath comes in staccato gulps and I whimper in surprise, my hips jerking when your tongue swipes through my folds one last time and my hand constricts in your hair and the one gripping the door handle shoots to grab at the back of your neck and I'm tugging you up and yanking you forward, moaning appreciatively at the taste of myself on your lips.

And you take my bottom lip between your own before pressing your forehead to mine, your eyes falling shut.

And I chuckle, the sound rumbling and deep as I press a soft kiss to your nose.

"Well, so much for your surprise."

And you laugh, the sound breathless and soft and you lean away, your eyes finding mine.

"I think I like this alternative better." You rasp and I shake my head and wrap my arms around your waist, the crisp air of the night causing a shiver to run up my spine, legs bare save for my thigh highs, rucked up skirt, and underwear wrapped around my thighs. I had forgotten it was the middle of October.

"Mmmmm, well, there's this lovely little place just up the road with heating and a room and a bed." I whisper, smirking.

"Oh yeah?" You say with an arched brow.

"Oh yeah," I answer back, a smirk on my lips, before kissing you again and opening the door at my back and sliding in as you walk around and do the same.

I start the car and signal before pulling onto the road.

"Uh...Regina?"

"Yes, dear?" I ask, eyes on the road.

"You're going to drive all the way there with your underwear around your thighs?"

I give a wicked grin then, eyes dancing when they flicker to yours briefly.

"All the way there."


	12. Chapter 12

**This was how I had originally planned to start chapter five of always known. I didn't like it and thought that it should be in Emma's POV to get a better picture of how she was handling everything. But I thought I'd share it with you all...like a deleted scene I guess? **

Everyone thinks she can't keep a secret.

Everyone thinks if they tell her something, she'll have it spread around town before the day's even out.

And okay, _yes_ she kind of told a secret that was the impetus for the creation of a certain Evil Queen and curses and -

She was _ten_.

She also had just wanted to help. A small detail that seems to always be forgotten.

Well, she's...not ten anymore.

She's a mother of two and a wife and a former bandit. A leader as well. A ruler.

Rulers are very capable of keeping secrets.

As are mothers and wives and former bandits.

And she's kept this particular secret for almost two years.

David doesn't even know.

At least she thinks he doesn't. He's never shown any signs that he sees what she sees, so she really thinks he doesn't.

Snow knows though. Snow also knows that Emma's figured it out too.

She'd been feeding Neal when Emma'd come by.

She was sulking, her shoulders drooping and her eyebrows permanently knit together, a frown on her face.

It looked like she'd been crying.

She didn't comment on that. She instead made Emma some hot cocoa with cinnamon and proceeded to ask about work.

She'd received a shrug and a mumbled response.

So not work.

She'd asked about Henry.

She gotten a smile out of that one. It was small, but still there.

Definitely not Henry. She hadn't thought it was him to begin with. Or work.

She knew who it was.

Regina. Because these days it's always Regina.

And when she'd finally asked about her Emma's shoulders had tensed and her jaw had tightened.

And when she'd tried to get a little bit more out of her she had stood abruptly with a curt "thanks for the cocoa" and left.

Snow had blinked, mouth parted in surprise.

Something had happened between them then.

That was yesterday evening.

She picks up her phone and presses 2, holds it down.

Emma's name lights up her screen. She answers on the third ring.

"Hey, Mom, what's up?"

Snow sifts through her fridge, making a mental list in her head of ingredients she needs.

"Hi, sweetheart, do you like walnuts?"

There's a beat of silence.

"They're...alright I guess. Did you call just to ask me that?"

Banana bread for dessert then. She eyeballs the five or six bananas starting to brown on the counter.

"Wonderful. We're having a family dinner tomorrow night. You don't have to work, right?"

She distinctly remembers overhearing Will at Granny's griping about having to work the night shift Friday.

"Uh...yeah, no, I'm off - we're having a family dinner...all of us?"

She hears the underlying question.

"Regina declined my offer. So just you, Henry, David, Neal, and I."

She feels a tug of guilt at lying to her daughter. But it's for her best interest. For her heart.

She hears Emma let out a breath. Her voice is decidedly more relaxed when she responds.

"Oh, well, that's..." She clears her throat. "Do I need to bring anything?"

Snow pads over to Neal's crib, brushes her finger down his nose, smiling.

"Nope, just make sure you and Henry come hungry."

#

So she might not have thought this through all the way.

She'd gotten Regina to accept using Henry as leverage.

She'd gotten Emma to accept through a lie.

And now they're all at the dining room table almost being swallowed whole by silence.

Tension-filled silence. _Tangible_ tension-filled silence.

Her and David are at the ends with Henry and Regina on one side, Emma on the other.

Everyone's looking at their plates.

Shuffling food. Scowling at it. Picking at it daintily. David's the only one wolfing it down.

He glances up at her and she motions her head toward the table, raising her eyebrows.

He looks to the two sides of the table and clears his throat.

All eyes move to him.

"So, Henry...how's school going?"

His eyes dart back to Snow's and she gives him an exasperated look.

_Really, Charming?_

He shrugs helplessly and turns his attention back to Henry who shuffles his chicken around with his carrots and shrugs as well.

"It's school. Lots of homework. No breaks. No gameboy."

He spears a carrot at the last sentence and Regina gives him a reproachful side eye.

He grumbles and she thinks she hears something along the lines of "just trying to help".

Snow frowns.

Regina clears her throat and her eyes flick across the table to Emma before finding her own.

"This is wonderful Snow, a recipe of yours?"

And she knows whatever has happened between Emma and Regina is much bigger than she originally thought if Regina is complimenting her on food. She _made_.

"No, actually. I bought a cookbook the other day. Someone by the name of Rachel Ray?"

Regina nods her head, doing a poor job of seeming interested.

Emma won't look up from her plate.

David's helping himself to seconds.

"Emma, would you mind getting the banana bread from the island?"

Emma's head snaps up and she looks completely dazed for a moment before she nods and scoots her chair back.

Snow watches Regina's eyes track Emma's back. She's looking at her almost longingly and Snow's head tilts.

She sees Henry watching her too.

She quirks her head. Does Henry know as well?

Hm.

Emma sets the cooling rack with the loaf of banana bread in the center of the table. Her eyes find Regina's over it before darting back to her plate. Regina's do the same.

My god, they're _ridiculous_.

Neal starts to fuss and she stands, moving to pick him up, abandoning her original plan for a new one.

She needs to know if and what Henry knows.

"Henry, would you mind helping me with this?"

He looks at her like she's just asked him to burn all of his comic books one by one.

She gives him what she hopes is a convincing warm smile.

"It could be a good learning experience," her voice is light and chipper. Totally not suspicious at all.

He scrunches his face before looking back to Regina then Emma (still very much avoiding each other's gaze) and nodding his head.

"Yeah, sure."

She makes sure the door is closed behind her before she speaks.

She lays Neal down on the changing table.

"You know don't you?"

He doesn't respond so she turns to find him, wide-eyed and too tall and gangly. He's growing up so fast.

"Uh, what?"

She smiles again, Neal's face contorting into one of discomfort as she cleans him with a baby wipe before putting on the fresh diaper.

"Your mothers. You know too, don't you?"

She picks Neal up and turns to face Henry, who's taken a step forward and is whispering now, his eyes shooting to the closed door.

"Wait, _you_ know!?"

"I'm starting to think everyone does."

He snorts. "Yeah, but they're both being really stupid about it," he says, rolling his eyes.

Snow rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet gently, brow furrowing.

"What do you mean?"

He sighs then, sounding far too exasperated for his age.

"They're both in love with each other and they're making it way more complicated than it actually is."

"Well, Henry, I mean your mother is still with another man so it's -"

"No she's not."

Snow stops rocking. This is news to her.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"She broke up with Robin a few days ago."

"How do you - and she hasn't told - does Emma know?"

Henry shakes his head, sighing again.

"Mom says Emma won't answer her calls." He rolls his eyes again looking like said mother and shifts his feet. "I told her to just go to her apartment but she said 'that'd be an invasion of her privacy'. He curves his fingers into air quotes, looking wholly unimpressed with the words.

Snow is too.

"So do they both know how the other feels?"

"Yeah - well, Mom knows how Emma feels. I saw them. Ma told Mom she loved her and then they hugged. But Mom -"

"Wait, wait - they _hugged_?"

_How_ did she not know this?!

Henry nods, eyes dancing at being able to talk to someone about this.

"Yeah, and it was outside of Granny's too. Sunday."

Snow gasps and Henry nods his head again, smile growing like a high schooler reveling in juciy gossip.

"I know, right!?"

"Did your mother say it back?"

Henry frowns then, mood turning somber.

"No, I told her to though. The night after I saw them hug. And I called Emma and kind of lied and told her Mom was crying in the bathroom and wouldn't come out unless she came over...and apparently it worked. But I don't know what happened. I fell asleep."

He seems perturbed at himself about that.

"And then when I woke up Mom was downstairs. She made me French toast and then grounded me for two weeks. She said 'I know your intentions were good, sweetie, but Emma was very upset and you shouldn't have lied to her.'"

He throws his hands up before they slap back down against his jean-clad thighs.

"They're so difficult! I was just trying to help and I get grounded for it!"

Snow nods, agreeing.

"Well, we'll both just have to help them, then."

Henry's eyes alight, a grin forming on his lips.

"Really?"

Snow feels her lips form a smile of her own.

"Really."

"Operation Parent Trap?"

"Operation Parent Trap," Snow nods, resting a hand on Henry's arm. "So, any ideas?"

He grins, mischievous now, an almost perfectly balanced mixture of his two mothers.


	13. Chapter 13

**I wrote this while listening to Carrie Underwood's version of Fix You. **

She'd been too late.

She'd been with him. With Robin. She'd been kissing him. She'd been laughing. She'd been _happy_.

She'd been distracted.

She'd let her down. _Emma_.

She'd tried to stop her. She'd reached out, she'd locked eyes with her. Sea-green shifting into an inky indigo with the magic from the dagger clutched in her hand, high above her head. The _darkness_.

"I have to save you," she'd said.

Not 'I have to save them'. 'I have to save my family'. Not even 'I have to save everyone'.

You.

_Her_.

She'd been too late. She'd left Emma. She'd failed her. She'd failed Henry. She'd failed everyone.

She'd lost them The Savior all because she'd been selfish.

She'd lost them a daughter, a mother, a _friend_. _Her_ friend. She'd lost a friend.

Her stomach churns, bile rising up in her throat, tears pricking at her eyes, Robin's arms around her feeling like chains. Heavy, heavy chains.

She squirms away from him, pushing roughly against his forearms when they tighten around her middle.

When he continues to hold her firmly, she feels magic tingling at the tips of her fingers, desperation, disbelief, _anger_ suffocating her. His _arms_ suffocating her.

She shoves at him again, this one infused with her magic, almost involuntary, and she stumbles forward with the quick release of his embrace.

Her eyes haven't left the spot where Emma had been just seconds before, the dagger now lying on the pavement like something taunting, ominous.

She feels her lips forming the syllables of Emma's name, heart seizing at the way it feels almost like a betrayal on her tongue. A betrayal on her part. She feels wrong saying her name. Almost like she doesn't have the right.

_More than a friend_, her mind whispers.

Her knees buckle at the weight of it. The weight of the whisper. The weight of the _realization_.

_So much more than a friend_, it supplies again, louder this time.

_You fool_, it echoes.

_You fool. _

"_No_," she hears herself whisper, head shaking back and forth.

No, no, _no_.

She'd been _right_ there. She'd been _right_ _there_.

She'd loved her.

She'd been too late.

She feels hands at her upper arms, feels her stomach lurch, feels her skin crawl beneath the warmth. _His_ warmth.

She can't even look at him right now.

She'd _failed_ her.

She's _gone_.

She dips away, jerks to the side, her palm breaking her fall with the harshness of the movement. She feels her skin grate against the pavement, feels the sting of it, _revels_ in it. Wants _more_ of it.

She'd been too late.

She stares at the dagger, the glint from the streetlights making it seem alive, _jeering_.

She doesn't know if Robin's still standing behind her or not. She doesn't know if anyone is still around her or not.

She'd failed her.

_Emma_.

The tears fall. They fall and fall and fall and her heart isn't seizing anymore it's tearing. Its stitching coming undone.

She'd been too late.

"Mom?"

_Henry_. Her son. _Their_ son. Emma's son. Emma was her son's _mother_.

_Is,_ her mind hisses angrily. _Is_.

_Was, _something whispers back.

She feels a tentative hand atop her thigh and her bleary eyes flicker to meet hazel. Hazel wrought with _so much_ sorrow and it _cuts_. It yanks at her stitches, it _aches_.

"Henry," she chokes out, "Henry," she shakes her head again, bottom lip trembling, "I'm _so_ _sorry_."

She feels a squeeze at her thigh and then she has two armfuls of her son. _Their_ son.

He buries his face in her hair and she hears him sniffle, feels him shudder with a soundless cry.

"We'll get her back, Mom," he whispers into her hair, fierce, determined. So like his other mother.

_Emma_.

Something leaves her throat then; pours out of her heart, the mangled mess of knotted stitching and jagged tissue, and travels right up through her esophagus, tasting like metallic on her tongue.

It's a sob. Something heaving and raw and it _aches_.

Henry, her little prince, her son, _their_ son, just holds her tight, tight, tight and it doesn't feel like shackles around her wrists, doesn't feel like a hand over her mouth and nose, doesn't feel like _too much, too much, too much_ or _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

It feels like salvation, like coming home, like safety. It feels strong and steady.

_Our_ _son_.

"We'll get her back," he says again, voice breaking this time, wobbly with his tears.

She clutches at his back, nails digging, because he's here. _He's here_. Her little prince. Her son. _Their_ son.

She doesn't know if anyone's still around her. She doesn't know if Robin's still standing behind her.

She knows her son is in her arms. _Their_ son.

She knows he's strong and determined and brave. _Just like his mother_.

She just doesn't know if she can believe his words.

_Emma_, her mind repeats over and over again.

_I have to save you_.

Her eyes find the dagger again, heart spilling out onto her ribs, staining them.

She'd failed her.

She _loves_ her.

She'd been too late.


	14. Chapter 14

**I honestly don't know what's wrong with me. **

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Emma's brow furrows and Regina _seethes_ at the way she still finds it endearing.

"I…I thought – "

"Emma," Regina cuts off, disbelief tainting the syllables, her "what are you doing here?" sounding like the "you know I'm with Robin, why did you just try to kiss me?" she meant it to be.

And blue-green eyes shift into something troubled, almost chaotic, and for a split second Regina finds herself grateful that it's no longer her responsibility nor an incessant threat to her mental sanity to try and read Emma's mind.

"I – " she shakes her head then, eyes down casting to her boots, looking increasingly lost. Her eyes tip back up to Regina's, "I thought we could talk."

And Regina's eyebrows lift, before she tilts her head, thinking she can't be serious. Emma can't truly think that they can talk about this _now_, can she?

"Talk," Regina echoes, feeling something pool in her stomach. She's not exactly sure what yet.

And Emma nibbles at her bottom lip, eyes darting from Regina's own to somewhere over her left shoulder.

"Yeah, talk. About…about that night, about what happ – "

Anger. It's anger she feels, festering and bubbling and deep. _Bottomless_.

"I'm sorry," Regina cuts her off once again, shaking her head, giving a mirthless exhale of a chuckle, "you show up here on my doorstep after a year of ignoring me, after I'm with someone else, and you want to _talk_? About _what_ _happened_?" She gives a snort then, incredulous. "Get off my front porch, Miss Swan."

She steps back, ready to shut the door in her face if she has to, but Emma stops it with her arm, pushing back and barreling through the threshold like it's her god given right.

That anger sloshes around in her gut, burning at her sides, blistering them.

"First off, I didn't ignore you," Emma pierces her with eyes so intense, so clear; so much _emotion_. She's never gotten this much emotion from her. Not like this. Not when it wasn't laced with underlying hatred. No, this is wholly different and Regina's anger roils within her still but this time something else is mixing with it as well. She clenches her jaw against it. She'd practiced. She'd shoved this down. Away. She'd buried it. Like all things that have managed to knock down her carefully constructed walls and burrow themselves inside of her, fitting as if they belonged there all along, she'd dug her nails into their very flesh, pried them off of her pulsating veins, the blood of which they seemed to thrive. Her blood. Her heart. _Her_. She'd ripped them from their home and threw them in a box. A cold box. A dark box. A box with no light, no heat, nothing. A box full of things that just took, took, took. A box with steel lining and an air tight lid. A box hidden somewhere in the deepest confines of her mind. A box untouched.

Emma was in there.

She'd practiced.

She doesn't care. She's _over_ _her_. Emma's nothing to her now but another addition to her little box.

"It's not like you were talking to me either," Emma grumbles. She sounds like the petulant child she is and Regina gives her a scathing look. She is _not_ going to talk about this.

"Second off, I'm putting myself out here for you, the least you could do is – "

"_Excuse_ me? The least _I_ could do?" Her anger seeps into the lining of her, into her veins, into her bloodstream. Within a second, within those five syllables, Regina's anger tears through her with a vengeance, completely shattering any and all sense of indifference. Of _not_ _caring_.

Because she _cares_. _Oh_ _god_, does she care. And oh god, does she _hate_ _it_ with every single fiber in her being.

She takes a step forward and balls her hand into a fist to keep from jabbing Emma with her finger.

"Who do you think you are, Emma Swan? Who do you think you are to _barge_ into my home, try and _kiss_ me, while I'm with someone else no less, and then tell me you're putting yourself _out_ _there_ \- for _me_?" She lets out another laugh, feeling it like something sour on her tongue. "To then throw something like 'the least you could do' at me – no. You've done _nothing_ to put yourself _out_ _there_. You've barely said more than twenty words and so far all you've managed to do is force yourself into a place you're no longer wanted."

Regina crosses her arms, feeling like she's just revealed too much of herself with her outburst, hating that she's let Emma get to her this quickly.

Emma blinks, cheek twitching, brow furrowing with what Regina distinctly recognizes as pain and she doesn't feel so much as a _sliver_ of regret for her words.

"Oh," is all she says and Regina's jaw constricts at the lack of emotion, tamping down the rage she feels, the words _oh? That's all you have to say is _oh_?_

She finds herself speaking others before she can think better of it and snatch them back.

"Robin's made me the happiest I've ever felt since Daniel."

Emma's eyes snap up and Regina feels nauseous from the way her body _sings_ with satisfaction at the hurt that flashes within sea green irises. Hurt that steels into something harder, something akin to the box she feels Emma pounding at within her mind.

"_Fuck_ _you_, Regina," she spits and Regina's eyes flutter at the venom behind it, her eyes dancing, lip curling, feeling _alive_ for the first time in a year.

"You wish you could, don't you, dear?" She feels almost drunk on the feeling of revenge, of being able to cut Emma how she'd been cut by her all those months ago. She takes another step with her words, aware of the fact that she's flirting with her own pain, her own self-deprecation. "It must be maddening to realize that you could have had me, _all_ of me, and yet you threw it away because of uncertainty. Because of someone who probably _still_ doesn't know how to treat you well. It must be absolutely _terrible_ to know that Robin now has what you could have. That he's laid _claim_ to me. That I've asked him to. _Begged_ him. Did you know I've never begged someone before him?"

There's tears building up in Emma's eyes and she takes an unsteady step backward, words choked and small when she says, "stop it."

"Daniel and I never got to that point and _you_ certainly wouldn't have gotten it out me. No," Regina chuckles, "I don't think you would have. But him? Oh, Emma. He's so good to me. So tender and gentle. But when I ask for it, rough, passionate, _raw_. And even sometimes when I don't."

Emma's openly crying now, tears falling down her pale cheeks, eyes glistening, piercing and this time she _does_ feel remorse for words. It sobers her, Emma's tears, and she feels heaviness settle in her gut now. Feels it like a rock, cold and hard and permanent.

She'd gone too far, cut too deeply. She'd cut Emma far deeper than Emma had cut her and maybe that's just for the best. She was with Robin and Emma was with the pirate and now they can part ways indefinitely.

"Did that make you feel better?" Emma asks, voice hoarse but not bitter. She just looks hollowed out now, eyes dull and face blank.

And no, Regina concedes, it didn't. It didn't make her feel better at all. She felt terrible, actually. The lid to her box is ajar now and Emma's weaving within her again. But this time it feels foreign, feels something like a sickness, something _wrong_.

"No," Regina whispers, horrified to find herself blinking back tears of her own.

And Emma wipes at her nose, sniffs, finds Regina's eyes again, gives a smile, something tired and resigned and defeated, and Regina thinks _no, don't give up on me _and an entirely new wave of guilt washes over her at the thought and she pushes Emma back into her box, pressing down on the lid with all her might.

"I guess it's a good thing we didn't ever talk about it until now," Emma says, voice scratchy.

And Regina knows this is the end, that this is going to be the very last time they talk like this. So she allows herself a small smile of her own.

"Yes," she says, "I guess it is."

And Emma's eyes flicker with something, something too quick to put a name to, and Regina doesn't allow herself to dwell on it. She can't. She _won't_.

"Goodbye, Regina," Emma says, before turning and walking out the front door, closing it softly behind her.

_I think I'm in love with you_, she hears Emma whisper in her mind.

Regina closes her eyes, feeling the hot wetness of her tears falling with the action.

She doesn't wipe them away. She just pictures that night a year ago. Emma's eyes so open, so honest. She lets herself feel her heart pound away in her chest like it had when Emma'd uttered those words to her in a breathy rush. She allows herself to feel it. All of it. The love, the happiness, the hope, the hurt, the pain, the resentment, the anger.

And then she stops it.

She'd practiced. She's good at this.

It's much easier this time.

Emma quiets inside her box. Just mere whispers now and Regina feels in control over her body once more.

And then she opens her eyes, everything within her that had been just _Emma, Emma, Emma_, completely still. Silent.

"Goodbye, Emma," she whispers into the foyer before making her way into the kitchen to fix dinner for her and Robin.


	15. Chapter 15

**I have no idea what this is. It could possibly be a companion piece to 'you're not the only one who loves her'. Maybe. Idk.**

* * *

"You love her."

She whirls around, hands breaking apart where she'd been wringing them feverishly.

"Robin," she gasps, moving to tuck a thick of hair behind her ear. "What are you – "

"Emma," he says softly, eyes searching her own. "You love her." Again, it's not a question.

Regina swallows, eyes moving to the floor, her hands – they're trembling now. She clasps them together. Squeezes. _Hard_.

"She's my son's mother."

Even to her own ears it's a weak reply. A weak evasion.

Robin gives a soft chuckle, head tilting, eyes keen.

"Regina…"

And she's _angry_. She's angry at that tattoo on his right wrist, bared by the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. She's angry at his gentle tone, the _understanding_ shining in his kind eyes. The awareness in them. Like he knows every edge and curve of her insides, sees the darkness within them forever stitched into her tissues and muscles and is okay with it, _accepts_ it. Like he can see not just his own named etched into her heart but Emma's as well.

He's looking at her as if that doesn't matter to him. As if he's completely fine with her heart not fully belonging to him. Like it's just something they can overcome together. Will only grow stronger because of.

It _infuriates_ her.

"Of _course_ I care about her, Robin. She sacrificed her soul for me. For my _happiness_." She gives a jaunty wave of her hand toward him then, eyes searing.

Robin's brow furrows and he takes a step closer to her. "Regina…I know you're upset and I understand – "

"You _understand_?" She gives a harsh laugh then, something that bounces off the walls of her vault around them. "What exactly is it that you understand, Robin? How it feels to have someone you used to _loathe_, someone you'd once spent _months_ trying to eradicate, sacrifice their entire _being_ for you? Or perhaps you know what it feels like to find that you no longer can even find _reason_ to hate said person and actually spend most of your days trying to understand how someone so _utterly_ impulsive and foolish and _stupid_ can make you feel so completely _dismantled_ all of the time."

She's crying now. She knows because her voice is wobbling. Know because it cracks, tapers off near the end. She knows because she feels her throat constrict, feels the hot tears rolling down her cheeks, burning at her eyelids.

Robin rushes forward then, face contorted in sympathy, arm outstretched, but she stumbles backward, head shaking, eyes on his tattoo.

_Soulmate_.

"No," she whispers feebly. "No. I need you to leave."

"Regina, please, let me – "

"I said _leave_!" Her voice booms about the walls and he retracts his hand as if burned. Winces. Gives her this awful look of longing. To _comfort_ her.

She turns her back to it, feels tears prick at her eyes again. This time for him.

Because she loves him. Truly she does. And it simply _aches_ when she hears his boots against the stairs, fading until it's completely silent once again, save for her shallow breathing.

She loves him. He's her _soulmate_. And all of her life, all she's ever wanted was true love. Happiness. _Freedom_.

And there was a time, a brief moment when her and Robin first started, where she truly thought she could be happy with them. Felt full with the possibility of a future with him.

And then it was spoiled. Turned a sickly green color by a woman she still can't bring herself to fully hate.

And she had wanted to blame Emma for the entire thing, still wants to sometimes. Because then it would be easy, wouldn't it? So_, _so _easy_.

But she doesn't. And truthfully she doesn't blame Zelena either. How can she when she herself had committed equally horrific acts for the sake of a hole unfilled by the same cruel fate woven by their mother?

Her entire life she's been nothing but a passenger, hands too tightly bound by the ropes around her wrists to even attempt to take the wheel. And even when she could? It was because she'd been allotted the opportunity, because her doing so benefited the person who had untied those ropes for her.

She's never known free will. She's never had someone come into her life that wasn't destined into it by some higher hand.

Including Emma.

The difference with her? She was never meant to befriend her. She was never meant to save her life. She was never meant to care for her. She was never meant to fall _in love_ with her.

But there's something so very enthralling about 'shouldn't be's and 'never meant to's.

There's something about her and Emma both being held up together by strings, like some sort of perverted puppet show, that draws her to the other woman.

Something about _our son_ and _I made you a promise I intend to keep _that fits so perfectly within the tiny notches of space between her stitches. Makes them lighter. Makes _her_ lighter.

Because Emma's seen her at her worst. As the frigid mayor, as a woman hell bent on satiating her revenge, as a devastated mother, lonely and broken, _empty_, save for her anger. As the Evil Queen.

And yet she's the _only_ person in this entire town who has only ever viewed her as the woman underneath all of that. All of that pain, that rage, that crippling desire to cut as deeply as she'd been her entire life.

Emma saw her for _her_. And it used to be _maddening_. How much she _didn't_ scare her. How Emma saw _right_ through all of her façades.

It used to boil under skin.

Now it just _aches_. It aches in a different way than lion tattoos and warm, calloused hands.

It makes her stomach heave and her chest tighten.

Because Emma has a pirate and she has a soulmate.

Because Emma has a pirate and yet she'd given not a moment's thought, not a hitch of hesitation that night when the darkness had been swirling about her, inky black tendrils trying to latch themselves onto her, weave inside of her, _engulf_ her.

Because it seems everyone knows of her feelings except the very person those feelings are _for_ and it's awful. It's _terrible_.

It's _unfair _and she doesn't understand _why_ this is all happening to her _now_.

Why it couldn't have happened a year ago before she'd even known who Robin Hood was.

Before Marian and Zelena and babies that weren't supposed to be growing inside bellies and lives that weren't meant to be ruined.

Before _what do you see in me? _and _a second chance._

She doesn't understand what she feels for Emma just as she doesn't understand _why_ she would sacrifice herself like that so willingly.

_You've worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed!_

It plays on a loop inside her mind. It bombards it, supersedes it. And it does so at the most inopportune times.

Like now when she's trying to _stop_ tears from falling.

Everything is _wrong_ and everything _hurts_ and she's _so._ _tired._

Her eyes find the dagger near the large pile of books she's been vigorously searching through the past few weeks.

Hook, naturally, had professed that he should be the one entrusted with it but after a few exchanged (very loud) words, it was agreed upon (him reluctantly) that she be the one to keep hold of it. If only because she was the only one within the group who had magical capabilities.

If she was being honest with herself though, a large part of her felt entitled to it. _She_ was the one Emma had saved. And as Hook had so _helpfully_ supplied _you're not the only one she saved, love, _she _knows_ it wasn't _just_ for her. But _you've worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed _isn't exactly something one says when they have the town's wellbeing in mind and though it truly didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, it mattered to _her_ and she was damn well going to take it personally.

She owes Emma her life. And though she _abhors_ debts, she thinks this one isn't so terrible. Finds she can't wait to pay it because that means if she _has_, Emma will have been found. Will be _here_.

She bends to pick the dagger up, runs her thumb along the engraved name. _Emma_ _Swan_.

Her stomach does its usual flip at feeling the syllables of Emma's name under her skin. Knowing she's in another realm somewhere. _Lost_.

_She's lost again. Because of _you_. _

_That_ particular brand of guilt comes next. Right on time. It floods through her and she falls to the bench with the weight of it, vision blurring. She screws her eyes shut against it, tightens her hold on the dagger, sucks in a sharp breath when a wave of sharp pain radiates through her left palm.

Her eyes fly open just in time to see a rivulet of blood trickle down her wrist. She stares blankly at it, an odd sort of tingling now traveling its way up her arm, through her chest, her entire body. It's _warm_. And just as she watches a few droplets splash against the onyx of her slacks, that warmth turns into searing heat.

It scalds her palm where her right hand is still holding the hilt of the dagger and it clatters to the floor as she gasps out at the pain.

The room starts to spin, the gash in her left palm is _throbbing_ and she balls it into a fist, her own nails digging into the wound completely unfelt over the blinding heat rippling through her entire hand now.

Her right one shoots out to wrap around her left wrist, an attempt to cut the circulation off there, to _stop the pain,_ but it does nothing. If anything it makes it worse and she cries out at the sensation, at the feeling of a crescendo.

And then there's one last surge, her teeth gritted and body tense, tense, tense, before she jolts forward, a shock of white emanating out of her left hand and into the farthest wall in her vault.

She watches as white turns into a bright azure and, as if powered by an electric current, dissipates and settles along the brick of the wall, forming a large circular entity, buzzing and forming to shape something distinctly familiar.

A _mirror_.

It isn't her own reflection she sees staring back at her though.

She sees the one person she'd prayed to multiple gods to find. The one person who's fate intertwines with her own. That one other person carved parallel to Robin in her heart. She gasps.

"_Emma_?"


End file.
